This Wednesday
by Kai Hanai'ali'i
Summary: The Order encounters a mute girl with the ability to cast wandless, voiceless magic - and a subsequent advantage in all things mental, including Legilimency and Occlumency. Is she hiding something behind those walls that will put them in danger? And why was she held prisoner by the Death Eaters in the first place? AU, please read Author's Notes. Will not update often.


**Author's Note**

Well hello guys. This is my first HP story. I've been lurking though – some of you may recognize me. No? Daww. Anyway, I was reading _Turncoat_ by elizaye (awesome story, by the way! You should read it!), and I was inspired by the heavy use of Occlumency and Legilimency to create a character that was, well, different. I'm not going to give it away here. You'll just have to read the story! But you might want to remember these things:

Harry only succeeded in disarming Voldemort at Hogwarts. Voldemort and his remaining supporters escaped. However, the Ministry is back in Order hands.

Draco Malfoy has defected to the side of the Order in the capacity of a spy, much like Snape.

Fred Weasley is still dead.

Bellatrix Lestrange is not dead.

That said, I hope you enjoy the story! Please read and review, it would mean the world to me! I think I've finally figured out how to separate my sections, but I still don't know how the dividers kept getting cut off. Oh well.

* * *

**Chapter One**

Hermione stared at the thin, pale woman that Harry had brought back from the most recent battle with Voldemort's forces. Her long hair was dirty and matted with dried blood and other filth, but underneath the muck, it was black. The woman's left eye was a startlingly bright blue; the other was covered with a thick, milky white film. Her haunting face was marred by a scar that sliced her right eyebrow in half and ended near her jaw; that must be why her right eye was blind. Despite her emaciated appearance, the woman had a very discernible aura of power around her.

"Are you hurt?" Hermione finally asked. The woman shook her head. "I need to make sure you're not a spy. Will you let me use Legilimency on you?"

The woman blinked, then nodded slowly. Why wasn't she speaking? Hermione wondered as she pointed her wand at the blue-eyed witch.

"_Legilimens!_"

* * *

"She doesn't cry, she doesn't scream. She doesn't make _any_ noise." The speaker was a petite woman with short, curly brown hair and tired hazel eyes. In her arms she held a baby, no more than a week old; small, wrinkled, and red. A tuft of black hair grew from the top of the blue-eyed child's head, lending her a sort of ruffled look.

A Healer in green robes held her arms out for the child. "Let me take a look at her. They didn't find anything during the initial exam?"

"No." This time the speaker was the taller, black-haired man standing behind the brunette. "They told us she was perfectly healthy."

The Healer, a mousy brown-haired woman in her late thirties, placed the child in the shallow crib and drew her wand. "I'm going to cast a few spells to see if there is anything immediately wrong with her," she explained, turning to look at the parents.

They nodded, clutching each other. Endless minutes ticked by; the room was filled with the palpable fear radiating from the couple. At last, the Healer sucked in a breath and turned to them, the baby cradled gently in her arms.

"Your daughter is mute. She has a birth defect that prevented her vocal cords from developing properly."

"But—" The brunette looked close to tears. "How can she communicate with us if she can't _speak_?"

"Now, Amy, I'm sure there's a way to fix her voice," the father said soothingly, rubbing his wife's shoulders.

The Healer shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Darling. There's nothing we can do for this particular affliction. If you would like to offer your daughter as a test subject—"

"She's not some lab rat to be poked and prodded at!" Amy Darling shrieked. "How dare you suggest such a thing!"

"It is a very rare disease, and test subjects are difficult to come by. We can't know if we have a cure unless we test it on someone successfully," The Healer explained. "However, we do respect your choices regarding your daughter. We can refer you to a Muggle specialist who will be able to teach your daughter sign language, which is what deaf people use to communicate—"

"I know what sign language is. I'm not stupid."

"I didn't mean to imply you are, Mrs. Darling, but we are trained to cover all aspects in case you were not aware of something. It has been documented that those born with this particular birth defect are fully capable of casting nonverbal spells, and have a higher capacity for mental power."

"What does that mean for Wednesday?" Mr. Darling asked, still rubbing his wife's shoulders soothingly as she held her baby and sobbed.

"She will be able to attend Hogwarts. She will most likely be a highly capable witch with a talent for Occlumency and Legilimency. She might even be able to cast wandless magic."

"She will be the greatest witch there ever has been," Amy said through her tears, and her voice was scarily determined.

* * *

"Hold out your wand hand, please." Mr. Ollivander peered at the silent, dark-haired young girl before him. She held out her left hand, and he began measuring the length from her elbow to her fingertips.

"Every wand is different, Miss Darling, just like every witch or wizard is different. No two wands are alike. Give this one a try." The tape measure had been doing its job while he pulled wands from the shelves, their boxes devoid of any kind of label or distinctive markings. The wand that he handed to her was sleek and long, a dark color with a smooth, twisting handle.

"Ebony and unicorn hair. Twelve inches. Nice wand for Transfiguration. Try—"

Wednesday had barely even lifted the wand when Ollivander snatched the wand from her hand. "No, no, no. Try this one. Oak and dragon heartstring, eleven and a half inches."

They went through a whole list of wands:

Willow and unicorn hair, eleven inches exactly.

Maple and phoenix feather, eleven and a quarter inches.

Yew and dragon heartstring, ten and three quarter inches.

Rosewood and unicorn hair, nine and a half inches.

Hawthorn and phoenix feather, ten inches exactly.

Fir and dragon heartstring, nine and three quarter inches.

Cedar and phoenix feather, ten and a half inches.

Blackthorn and phoenix feather, twelve inches exactly.

Hazel and dragon heartstring, eleven and three quarter inches.

With each successive wand, Ollivander grew more and more excited. "Hm, yes. Try this one. Hornbeam and dragon heartstring, twelve and a quarter inches."

Yet another wand was promptly snatched from Wednesday's hand. She stood there for almost another quarter hour before Ollivander produced the wand that approved of her.

"Silver lime and unicorn hair. Twelve inches exactly. Try…"

The minute Wednesday laid her fingers on the wand, she knew this was the one. Even before Ollivander spoke, she felt a rush of energy, and as she raised the wand, a spray of silver stars shot out from the end of the wand.

"Good, good," Ollivander beamed at her. He began stacking the boxes back on the shelves, barely pausing as he considered each one and placed it back where it came from. "How does it feel?"

"She can't speak, Mr. Ollivander," a prim woman's voice said tightly. Amy Darling, with premature grey hairs in her hair and crow's feet at the corners of her eyes, stood by the cash register, dressed in a stiff woman's suit of navy blue. Her curly brown hair was longer now, and pinned up in a severe bun. There was no hint of a smile on her face, nor any laugh lines. Life had not been gentle with her.

"Oh, yes, my apologies." The wandmaker was quick to apologize to the severe woman in his shop, his eerie gaze resting on her briefly before he turned back to her daughter. "Miss Darling, does the wand feel right to you?"

Wednesday nodded, then held up one hand and signed something rapidly. Ollivander turned to her mother for a translation.

"She says it feels wonderful."

"Excellent. That will be seven galleons and two sickles," Ollivander said, moving into business mode briskly. Amy Darling paid for the wand and almost dragged her daughter from the store, saying something about needing to get in line for books.

* * *

Wednesday sat on a Hogwarts four poster bed draped in Ravenclaw blue and bronze. She was alone for the moment, a single candle lighting the dim dormitory. Again she was older, probably thirteen; by the calendar on the wall by her bed, it was April ninth, 1988, three years before Hermione had gotten her letter to Hogwarts. The black-haired girl was staring at a photograph of her father, tears dripping silently down her face.

_Why did you have to leave?_ Her voice echoed through the memory. _If you hadn't gotten in the car and driven away, you'd still be here. You wouldn't have been hit by that truck, you wouldn't have died on the way to the hospital, you wouldn't have left me _without saying goodbye_!_ Wednesday sniffed. _You promised, Daddy. You promised you would come back._

* * *

"I'm never good enough for you, Amy! That's right, isn't it? It's my fault Wednesday's mute, it's my fault that the roof leaks, I'm the one who always starts these arguments! Isn't it? You're never in the wrong, are you?"

"You never show me any kind of respect, Jonathan! How do you expect me to cook and clean and take care of Wednesday all the time, and still pick up after you? I have work too!" Amy Darling hurled a frying pan at her husband, who ducked and drew his wand.

"I've done my best to provide for you! Both of you!" he knocked away the plate that came flying towards him; it shattered on the ground, in front of a wide-eyed six year old girl, who watched the argument with shock and confusion.

"You always say that! When was the last time you took time off of work? You didn't remember my birthday, or our anniversary! You almost forgot Wednesday's birthday!"

"Because I was _away_, on a work trip, and I was jet lagged!"

"Right! That's always your excuse! Work, work, work, all of the time!"

"I'm done with this. Goodbye, Amy." Jonathan Darling turned to see his daughter standing in the doorway. Ignoring his wife, he knelt down in front of her, wiping away the tears that glistened in her eyes. "I'll always love you, Wednesday. I'll do everything I can to help you, okay? Promise me you'll be a good girl."

_Where are you going, Daddy?_ Her voice echoed through the memory; she was using telepathy!

"I have to go, sweetheart. I can't stay here anymore."

_Why, Daddy? Why can't you stay with me?_

"I just can't, okay?" He stroked her hair. "I'll be back for you. I promise."

* * *

This Wednesday was sitting in front of Dumbledore in the Headmaster's office. The Headmaster was sitting behind his desk, his face tired and sad. Outside, the sky said that it was dawn.

"I'm so sorry, Wednesday. Your mother passed away early this morning. There was nothing the Healers could do to help her." Fawkes fluttered over to the black-haired girl, perching on her knee as her face went blank.

_I'm not surprised. After my father left, she became addicted to that muggle drug – meth. It was only a matter of time. I'm actually surprised she held on to her sanity so long._ Absentmindedly, she stroked the phoenix's glossy. _Is that all, Professor?_

"I know you didn't have the best relationship with your mother, Wednesday, but I would have thought you would mourn her death. Since you are of age, you have inherited the house and all her belongings. The Wizengamot will contact you with the details and your key to her Gringotts vault. When do you plan to have the funeral?"

_As quickly and as quietly as possible. She was a menace. She gave me __**this**__._ Wednesday pointed to her right cheek, where an angry red scar sliced neatly down her face, through her eyebrow and eye and stopping at her jaw. Her eye was covered in a milky film. _Why should I mourn someone who would have willingly sold her own daughter for her selfish needs?_

"But she didn't, in the end, did she?"

_I don't care. She still did it. She never said she was sorry. I'm lucky she left me a house to stand in, never mind any money._ Wednesday stood up. _Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, for informing me of my mother's demise. I will make arrangements for her burial. Now, I must get to breakfast._

"The sun has hardly risen."

_Good day, Professor._ Wednesday turned her back on the old man and with a final pat for Fawkes, disappeared down the stairs.

* * *

Wednesday Darling sat in a cold, stone room, chained to the wall. She wore filthy rags; her hair was matted. This was the Wednesday that sat in front of Hermione at Number 12 Grimmauld Place in the present day. Her one working eye was cold and aware, flicking restlessly around the cell. There was no one else there; the only light came through the tiny window on the door, revealing the torch-lit corridor of the dungeons. This, of course, was an illusion. There was no dungeon in Little Hangleton, in the old Riddle house. But no matter. Even she couldn't break the illusion, so she would have to play along.

_Oburo_. The chains disintegrated, leaving her free to stand and inspect her cell. A few Transfiguration charms gave her shirt and jeans, although she had nothing to create shoes for herself. She placed a palm against the wooden door. _Exurate_. The door rapidly began to smoke, and she withdrew her hand as the wood burned itself to ashes in a few quick minutes.

Stepping outside, Wednesday Stupefied the guard who had been alerted to her escape and took his wand. Wandless magic still tired her, despite her skills. _Ducovia abitus_. The wand spun in her hand, and she followed where it pointed, Stupefying Death Eaters as she went. Her walk was hurried; she must not be found. She must escape. Just because she could not feel the pain of the Cruciatus Curse did not mean that they wouldn't find other ways to break her. They would find ways to harm her physically; the Cruciatus Curse was all in the mind.

She only had to duel one Death Eater, and it was quick. Where were all of the others? Beyond the boundary of the Anti-Disapparation Jinx, she was about to Apparate somewhere safe when she was grabbed by an unknown hand and drawn into that void of Side-Along Apparation. _Shit._

When she emerged, she was on a battle field. People she recognized as members of the Order of the Phoenix fought masked Death Eaters, screaming spells and curses. Blood made the grass slick; looking down, she saw that she was standing next to a decapitated body. Fighting the urge to vomit, she turned to find out who had brought her here.

A Death Eater. Why hadn't he just killed her? She raised the stolen wand, expecting him to curse her, but instead, he turned away and disappeared into the throng. _What?_

She had no more time to think. Drawing on years of knowledge and her own invented spells, Wednesday threw herself into the fight, until she came face to face with Harry Potter himself.

"Who are you?" he asked, pointing his wand at her.

She shook her head, pocketing her wand and spreading her hands to show him that she meant no harm.

"You're a friend?" Wednesday nodded, then stabbed a finger at him. He flinched, throwing up a Shield Charm, but her spell whipped by him and struck the Death Eater attempting to ambush him. The masked figure began writhing as his body shriveled up, leaving a dry corpse where only a minute before there had been a living, breathing Death Eater.

Harry stared at her intensely for a moment before grabbing her arm. She tried to pull away, but his fingers dug into her skin. "I'm going to take you to a friend of mine. She'll help you." Again, Wednesday felt the pull of Side-Along Apparation, appearing on the doorstep of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Hermione took a deep breath, drawing herself out of the woman's – Wednesday's – memories. "You're mute?" A nod. "You can sign?" Another nod. "You can cast wandless and nonverbal magic?"

Wednesday narrowed her eyes at Hermione.

"I'm sorry, I just have to check. Why were you in the Riddle house?"

Wednesday rolled her eyes and began to sign, slowly, to see if the bushy-haired brunette could even understand her.

'I ran into a group of Death Eaters. They got angry when I did not react to the Cruciatus Curse, so they took me to Voldemort. He wanted to experiment on me, so he ordered me locked up. I escaped, obviously.'

Hermione nodded, to Wednesday's surprise. When had the girl learned sign language? "So you are a friend?"

'Yes. I will do my best to help you defeat Voldemort.'

"Very well. I trust you. There's a bathroom upstairs where you can wash. Let me find you some clothes—oh!" There was a harsh banging on the door, and Hermione flew to open it. "George! What—?"

"Sectumsempra." The living Weasley twin was covered in blood, swaying on the doorstep. A deep gash struck diagonally across his body from his shoulder down to his hip, the obvious work of the Sectumsempra Curse.

Hermione led the redhead inside, levitating him onto a table and rolling up her sleeves. First she cast a Staunching Charm to stem the flow of blood. She hardly noticed Wednesday watching her as she murmured various spells meant to heal the wound, which remained bloody and deep despite the charms.

Wednesday reached across, twisting her fingers in a gesture obviously meant to accompany an incantation. A split second later, the blood disappeared, presumably with a Siphoning Charm. Hermione nodded her thanks, preparing a vile-smelling paste to put on the wound, but Wednesday shook her head.

'I can heal him.'

"How?" Hermione demanded. She did _not_ like getting shown up – especially not by someone she'd just met!

'Later.' Frowning, Hermione stepped aside to allow Wednesday to take her place. Woe betide her if she did something to George! But at least there was a chance he would live, if Wednesday was telling the truth. Despite months of study and research, the Order had still not been able to come up with a proper countercurse to Snape's invention. With time, potions, and numerous spells, the victims usually healed, but Hermione wanted to see what this woman could do. She did feel guilty putting George at risk, but if what she had seen was true, then Wednesday was not a threat.

Wednesday worked quickly – and silently. First she Vanished his shirt so that she could access the wound. Brushing her palm over George's wound, she closed the gash. Then she pressed her palm to the angry red line that remained, casting spells to repair internal damage, dispel dark magic, and a spell of her own that strengthened the original healing spell. The result was a pale scar instead of a bloody gash. Stepping back, Wednesday signed to Hermione, 'I'm done. He needs a Blood Replenishing Potion.'

As Hermione poured out a dosage of the potion, she said conversationally, "I've never seen someone heal a wound caused by Sectumsempra so quickly. What spell did you use?"

'Can I enter your mind?'

"_What_?"

'You will not be able to pronounce it properly without my help. I cannot say it, obviously.'

"Oh. Can't you write it down?"

'You don't trust me.' Wednesday's gaze was steady. 'Give me a piece of parchment, a quill, and some ink.'

Hermione fetched the requested materials, keeping a close eye on George Weasley. Now that the healing was over and the potion was administered, he was in a deep, natural sleep. Magic could only do so much. He needed to recover.

Wednesday dipped the quill into the ink and wrote in small, neat characters.

_Sanus Actericus Infinitum (SAN-us act-ER-i-cus in-FIN-i-tum)_

_It will heal wounds inflicted by dark magic. My own invention._

She slid the paper across to Hermione, who read it with a furrowed brow. "You mean you created this spell by yourself?"

Wednesday nodded. 'I had many opportunities to use it on myself.'

The question was on the tip of Hermione's tongue, but she held it in. If Wednesday didn't want to tell her, she wouldn't press the subject. "Have you created other spells?"

Another nod. 'I have many. They aren't always useful. You saw some earlier during my escape.'

"Could you repeat them again?" Hermione's curiosity got the better of her.

She passed the parchment back to Wednesday, who rewet the quill and began writing again.

_Oburo (ob-UR-o) will disintegrate something. I used it on the chains._

_Exurate (ex-UR-ate) sets things on fire. I used it on the door._

_Ducovia (du-CO-vi-a) will show you the path to the object you specify with the second part of the spell. I used abitus (ab-EE-tus) to find the exit._

"Ducovia is like the Four-Point Spell, then," Hermione observed, reading quickly. "Can I keep this? These will come in useful."

'Go ahead. What can I do to help?'

"They're fighting Death Eaters near Lytham St. Annes. I wouldn't go back, though, surely Voldemort will have people looking for you?"

'Probably. What about here?' Wednesday looked around. The kitchen was small, the large dining table pushed to the side to make room for the stretchers and table-beds that turned the kitchen into a pseudo-hospital. George Weasley was currently the only occupant, although the shelf of potions and books indicated that the makeshift hospital saw regular use.

"I'm here as Healer – and to pick up the pieces if we fall. You should probably go wash and clean up. Here—" Hermione pulled a black dress from the neatly folded pile of extra clothes on one of the counters, presumably for those who came back with less clothing than they went out with. "You can wear this." The brunette also found some undergarments for Wednesday, although try as she might she couldn't find the extra shoes that she knew were somewhere in the house.

'Thank you,' Wednesday signed, following Hermione's directions to the bathroom. She shut the door and stood there for a while, marveling at her luck. Not only had she escaped Voldemort, but she had found the heart of his opposition. Returning to reality, she stripped off the Transfigured clothes – which were bloodstained, muddy, and torn – and stepped into the shower, sighing with relief as hot water poured over her, causing the cuts she had sustained in battle to sting.

She spent a long time in the shower, cleaning herself thoroughly before healing her cuts and bruises. As she dried her hair with a towel, she examined the wand she had stolen. It was short, only eight and a half inches, and made of elm wood. Spells indicated that it had a core of dragon heartstring. With a sigh, she dressed and pocketed the wand. Her new dress went down to her ankles and had long sleeves. It was loose on her, although it did have two deep pockets. Wednesday Transfigured the shed clothes into a hairbrush and brushed out her long hair. Placing the wand and brush in her pockets, she returned to the kitchen, where a large group of people were busy talking and tending to the wounded, of which there were several.

Harry Potter was the first to spot her. He made his way over to her, looking at her quizzically. "Thank you," he said. "For saving my life," he added, when she blinked.

'You're welcome," she signed, but he just looked confused. With a sigh, she Summoned the parchment, quill, and ink and wrote her message to him.

"Oh. Can't you speak?"

"She's mute." Hermione appeared behind him. "Harry, this is Wednesday. She's going to join us against Voldemort."

"_Mute_?" Harry repeated, staring at Wednesday, who fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze. "So…how do you know her name?" He pulled Hermione aside. "Look, I trust you, but how do you know she isn't a spy?"

"She let me use Legilimency on her. I could feel her walls, though – there are things she didn't show me. But what I saw makes me trust her. She doesn't have anybody Voldemort can use as leverage against her – both her parents are dead, and she doesn't have any siblings," Hermione said quickly. "Harry, she can cast wandless and nonverbal magic. She invented a countercurse for Sectumsempra. We need her. Even I haven't been able to create a spell to heal wounds caused by Sectumsempra so directly. We might not have lost Michael Corner if she had been here two weeks ago."

"But if she was hiding things from you—"

"Look, Harry, we're going to have to trust people. There are people we've accepted into the Order who have done less for us than she has. She saved your life, Harry. Would she do that if she were a Death Eater, or a spy? She would have killed you on the spot, or taken you back to Voldemort, not protect you."

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his unruly hair. "All right. I trust your judgment. Does she have a wand?"

"Why don't you actually talk to her? She's a telepath, but you'd have to let her into your mind for that. If you want I can come and translate her sign language for you."

"When did you learn sign language?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer.

"From a book. Now come on. Mrs. Weasley is going to start making dinner, so she wants everyone out, except for the injured and those treating them. Ginny will do fine on her own, with Blaise to help her." Hermione tugged on Harry's sleeve, and, grabbing Ron as well, led them over to Wednesday. "We'd like to talk to you. Could you follow me?"

Wednesday nodded, her gaze flicking to Ron's bright red hair before resting again on Hermione, who led them up to the room Ron, Harry, and Blaise shared. Phineas Nigellus's portrait had been removed and stored in the attic long ago – they didn't know where his allegiance lay, even though he was supposedly bound to obey Minerva McGonagall, the Headmistress of the currently closed Hogwarts. That was why they were concerned – with Hogwarts closed, McGonagall wasn't technically Headmistress.

The four young people sat on the beds, the Golden Trio on one and Wednesday on another. Hermione spoke first.

"Harry, Ron, this is Wednesday Darling. She's a mute, but she can use sign language and telepathy to communicate. She can cast wandless and nonverbal magic, which is kind of obvious, since she's mute, and she is an Occlumens." Wednesday's eyebrow rose slightly at that statement, but she remained motionless otherwise. Usually people didn't detect her walls. Then again, she had had almost everything walled off, except for the memories Hermione had seen, so it was probably obvious she was hiding her other memories. "She healed George, who came back with a horrible Sectumsempra wound. I might have lost him if it weren't for her – she's invented a spell that heals wounds inflicted by dark magic, and several others as well. She's going to help us, right, Wednesday?"

Wednesday nodded.

Ron's forehead was creased in confusion. "How could she heal a Sectumsempra wound? Not even my mum could do it—" He stopped talking as Wednesday began signing rapidly.

'My father taught me Latin. As a child, I soaked it up and began inventing my own spells. Silly things, like turning my dolls' hair green, or making the fairy lights on the tree fly around the room like real fairies. When I got older, I had to come up with spells to heal myself. My mother became a meth-head after my father's death, and she almost sold me to a wizard pimp when I was thirteen. I fought him before the transaction was complete, so he hit me with several dark curses, which I managed to heal after my mother took me home. That's where I got this scar from – my mother used a knife to scare me into letting her take me to him in the first place.' Hermione managed to translate the majority of what Wednesday said to the boys, and their eyes grew big after she finished.

"Merlin," Harry breathed, admiration for Wednesday appearing on his face. "I had no idea."

'Of course you didn't. You just met me.'

"Can you see at all, with that eye?" Ron asked, pointing to the right side of her face.

Wednesday shook her head, and both he and Harry grimaced. As avid Quidditch players, neither of the boys could imagine only being able to see with one eye.

"Do you need a wand?" Harry asked, deciding to get down to business. "We have lots, although if you can cast wandless magic—"

Wednesday shook her head again. 'I prefer to have a wand with me, at least. Wandless magic is tiring, even for me.'

"We have lots of extras—" Ron began, but stopped when Wednesday pulled the elm wand out of her pocket.

'I don't like this one. Can I swap it for another?' she signed.

"Of course." Hermione got up and left the room for a moment, returning a minute later with a large bundle of wands. "Take your pick," she said, laying them out on the end of the bed Wednesday was sitting on.

Wednesday got up and ran her fingers over the wands, pausing briefly on a hawthorn wand before picking up a walnut wand of about ten and a half inches. It twitched at her touch, and as she raised it, it shot out a few red sparks. She inspected it, silently casting a spell to determine the core. Blinking, she slowly lowered it.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

Wednesday looked up. 'Who owned this wand?' She looked like she had seen a ghost.

Hermione shrugged, not bothering to translate for the boys. "I don't remember. Why?"

"What's going on?" Harry and Ron demanded at the same time.

'This wand. Walnut and dragon heartstring, ten and a half inches. Do they know who owned it?' Hermione repeated the query to Ron and Harry.

"Wasn't that Jonathan Darling's wand?" Ron asked, and Wednesday dropped the wand.

Ron yelped as his mind was invaded. _What did you say?_ Wednesday demanded of him, leaving Hermione and Harry out of the loop.

"Mr. Darling died last year in a fight with Death Eaters. Yaxley got him. I think this is his wand," Ron stammered.

Hermione's mouth formed an O. "Ron, Jonathan Darling was her father. He died when she was six years old!"

"But…there was a Jonathan Darling fighting for us, wasn't he? These past few years?" Harry said, frowning.

Wednesday was trembling. For a moment, she put aside her morals and invaded Ron Weasley's mind without his permission. She had to know if her father had been alive all these years.

* * *

A tired, prematurely aged man sat at the table in the kitchen the four young folks had recently left in the present day. He had black hair and dark blue eyes; in his hands were a letter and a picture of a black-haired girl, serious and barely moving other than to blink. It was Wednesday.

"Mr. Darling, are you all right?"

The man folded the letter and picture quickly, preventing a younger Ron from seeing them. "Yes, Ron, I'm fine," he said, smiling pleasantly. "Just…just thinking."

* * *

All it took was that one memory. Wednesday came back to herself with a shuddering gasp, tears pooling in her eyes and rushing down her face. Her father had been _alive_. And now she had lost him again, this time for real.

The Golden Trio watched uncomfortably as the stoic stranger crumpled to the floor, clutching the wand and sobbing silently. Hermione moved first, putting an arm around Wednesday's shoulders and holding her as the older woman cried.

"Mate, what just happened?" Harry whispered to Ron.

"She—she used Legilimency on me. She saw Mr. Darling, and then did that," Ron whispered back uncomfortably. He'd never done well with crying girls.

"She what?" Harry asked, angry. "She can't just—"

"Shut up, Harry. She just lost her father for the second time. Do you know what that would feel like? She _knew_ him, Harry. She remembers him. And now she found out that if she'd gotten here a year earlier, he would still be alive!" Hermione snapped.

Wednesday dragged in a breath, gulping down her tears. She gently shook off Hermione's arm and stood up, the wand clutched tightly in her hand. Wiping her face with her sleeve, she signed, 'I am sorry for using Legilimency on you, Ron. I had to know.'

"It's okay," Ron said after Hermione repeated Wednesday's apology. "Blimey…"

'When did he start working for you?' Wednesday signed, her hand trembling.

"We didn't really get to know him until after seventh year, when we were on the run," Hermione explained.

They still hadn't explained the Horcruxes to anyone, so Hermione stared at her in shock when Wednesday signed, 'Looking for Horcruxes?'

"How did you—"

'They're the only reason Voldemort could possibly still be alive after being hit with the rebounding Killing Curse. Dumbledore let me have free access to the Restricted Section of the library and his personal store of books.'

Hermione was envious. She would have done almost anything to get her hands on all of those books! Well! "Yes, we were looking for Horcruxes," she said, causing Ron and Harry, who had been watching the exchange with twin expressions of puzzlement to yelp in surprise.

"She knows?" they asked at the same time.

Wednesday nodded. 'Look, this is going to be tiresome if they can't understand me. Now will you allow me to communicate mind to mind with you?'

Hermione hesitated, pulling Ron and Harry into the corner to talk in hushed voices. Wednesday turned back to her new wand – her father's old wand. Walnut and dragon heartstring. How many times had she stared at it, stroked the smooth surface, wishing that she could use a wand too? She felt like she had come full circle since those days. She'd thought that this wand was lost forever, just like her father. The wreck of his car had been so bad that they couldn't even identify him with dental records or magic – his wand was long destroyed. Or so they'd thought. To be told that he had been alive for so many years, without contacting her, even after her mother died…it hurt.

"Wednesday?" The black haired girl looked up, her fingers running over the walnut wand as she listened. Hermione was the one who had spoken. "The answer to your question…we've decided, yes, we will trust you. But first, we want to know the extent of your powers. I'm the best Legilimens we've got, except Kingsley, and I know you were hiding things from me."

'So?' Wednesday signed. 'How are you going to test me?'

"There's someone else who is better than Kingsley at Legilimency and Occlumency. I want you to meet him so he can test your mind." Hermione hesitated. "But you have to promise that you won't harm him or reveal his identity to anyone."

'It's the Death Eater that let me go, isn't it?'

* * *

**Author's Note**

Obruo means to destroy or overwhelm in Latin.

Exuro means to burn or burn down in Latin.

Duco means to command, draw, or lead in Latin.

Via means path, route, or way in Latin.

Abitus means exit or way out in Latin.

Sano means to heal in Latin.

Ater means dark or malicious in Latin.

Ictus means wound in Latin.


End file.
